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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887208">rabbit's cry may be wilder</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deernymph/pseuds/roadkill'>roadkill (deernymph)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little bit of mystery, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bad Decisions, Fantasy, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Orgasm Denial, Scent Kink, Smut, but unintentional/forced denial, lots of dubious decision-making tbh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:35:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,702</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deernymph/pseuds/roadkill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wren assumed the man was an alpha based on appearance, but even after washing his clothes and wiping the blood off his skin, he smelled of nothing. Well, not exactly nothing; he had a unique scent like anyone else, a whiff of pine needles and musk that clung to his clothes. It was just blank, completely missing the identifiers that guided Wren’s life: dangerous, tobacco and spice alphas; clean, citrus and saltwater betas; sweet, cinnamon and caramel omegas.</p><p>It was almost like he had no secondary sex at all.</p><p>.</p><p>Wren is an unmated omega just trying to get through his heat. Then a mysterious alpha (or beta? It’s complicated) collapses at his door and Wren’s life gets a whole lot more fucked up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Wren Lachlan/Kit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. prologue; light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title is from the poem kindness by sylvia plath<br/>smut will happen eventually, rn i'm just dipping my toes into the water w this... and i really need to force this story out of my brain</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Outside of Wren’s window, there was a large crash.</p><p>The sound shocked him out of his stupor. It was like wood splitting apart, crisp, sudden, and echoing. He dropped his book and looked out into the night, but the rush of rainwater concealed his view. Perhaps a tree had fallen. Or lightning had struck. Wren slumped forward with a sigh, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling stirring under his skin.</p><p>Even on his walk home from the clinic he’d been paranoid. It hadn’t even been that late—it’d been a wonderful night, even. Though the moon had usurped the sky and clouds gathered in the distance, it was pleasantly warm, the path lit by the glow of lanterns and the symphony of frogs and crickets playing at his ears. Usually Wren would have enjoyed the stillness of that balmy evening. And yet he walked with his keys clutched between his knuckles the entire way home.</p><p>He could have sworn he felt the eyes of an alpha on him, watching him. But it was just his damned heat playing tricks on him. It didn’t help that he hardly got any sleep. In fact, the crashing sound was probably an hallucination; with so many sleepless nights under his belt, he was due to start hearing things anyway.</p><p>Wren spent most nights like this: slouched over a textbook in his living room, the words swaying before his dazed eyes in a teasing dance. Sometimes he would experiment with herbs or review his notes. On other nights, the more vulnerable ones, he would drink and stare at the walls, waiting for them to move. But those were few and far between; he tried to never think of how lonely he felt or how the house had become a hollow shell of something warmer. Those were unproductive thoughts, and if he had insomnia then it was going to make him <em> productive</em>, heat and paranoia be damned.</p><p>And yet he found himself drawn back to the window, searching the darkness for answers.</p><p>Two raindrops raced each other before joining as one. He traced their path, sighing and pressing a cheek to the cold glass. There were no answers. Just the raindrops and nothing more.</p><p>Then, a bright light wavered in the distance. Wren rubbed his eyes to dispel the hallucination, but it was still there, trembling from side to side.</p><p>“I’m going insane,” He whispered, but couldn’t help rushing to open his front door and chase the specter. There it was still, a spark suspended in the haze of the storm, gradually growing larger. It didn’t look to be fire, but a... lantern?</p><p>“Hello?” The wind swept away Wren's voice. He tried again, “Is someone there?”</p><p>The light flickered, fading into the black night. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, something about the spark haunting him. He was about to step back inside when a cloaked figure landed at his feet.</p><p>Wren screamed, flinching back, but the figure didn’t move. One pale hand was all he could see, heavily bandaged and still as death. A cold chill settled over him.</p><p>He knelt down nearly crumbled with relief when he felt a pulse, weakly stuttering against pale skin. Had someone gotten drunk and caught in the storm? It wasn’t uncommon for alphas to put themselves in such stupid situations. Pulling back the cloak with trembling fingers, he met a shock of silver hair and a face stained with blood.</p><p>“Oh, you’re not okay,” Wren breathed out, immediately forcing his hands under the stranger’s shoulders to lift them up. Though they were larger than Wren, he managed to hoist the stranger up and drape them across the couch. Removing the cloak, Wren noticed that one, the stranger was masculine with the figure of an alpha, and two, his wounds were severe. Working off of fear and adrenaline, Wren gathered supplies in record time and began to cut off the man’s shirt.</p><p>There was a sudden gasp, “<em>Fuck</em>,” and Wren looked up to a pained expression. The man breathed in a trembling breath, stared at Wren as if he weren’t real, and then forced out, “Sorry.”</p><p>He wasn’t anyone from the village; Wren kept tabs on every alpha. Aside from that, he would have recognized the man's distinctive features: white eyelashes and a scar bisecting his lip. He looked to be handsome, even with his face stained in streaks of red.</p><p>“Don’t apologize, I’m used to blood.” Wren began soaking a cloth with alcohol, watching the stranger for any signs of fainting. “You’re lucky you collapsed on the doorstep of a doctor.” The man gritted out a string of curses when Wren pressed the alcohol to his chest. Multiple puncture wounds, he noted, and some scratches down to the hip. Bruising around the ribs. It would be best for the man to stay awake. “What happened to you?”</p><p>The stranger stared for a moment, then flatly said, “Wolf attack. I was traveling.” His voice was rough with disuse, every word wrenching itself from his throat.</p><p>“I’m sorry. What’s your name?”</p><p>He smiled, though there was no genuine amusement behind it. “I have a lot of names.”</p><p>“Which one should I call you by, then?”</p><p>A pause. “Kit, I guess.”</p><p>“Well, Kit, I need you to hold on for a little longer while I put pressure on these wounds. Can you do that?”</p><p>His eyes slipped shut and a ball of worry settled into Wren’s stomach. He had to stop the bleeding somehow but also had to stitch up those scratches, and his ribs had to be fractured—</p><p>“I smelled you, y’know, in the wind,” It was barely a whisper. “‘S how I got here. You smell fucking great.” Then the pain on his face relaxed into troubled unconsciousness.</p><p>Wren sighed, “Shit.” And then he got to work.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p>  </p><p>Wren had a sensitive nose. Of course, all humans had a keen sense of smell; it was required to pick up on implicit social cues, to recognize who was alpha, beta, or omega and who was in heat. But Wren was especially good at it. It wasn’t quite a talent but made for a good party trick. He could sense the secondary sex of anyone who had been in a room before him; he could warn his omega patients of their heats a month in advance; he could pick out someone clear as day, even when suppressants muddled their scent.</p><p>So it came as a shock to Wren when he couldn’t smell any secondary sex on Kit. Wren assumed he was an alpha based on appearance, but even after washing his clothes and wiping the blood off his skin, he smelled of nothing. Well, not <em> exactly </em> nothing. Kit had a unique scent like anyone else, a whiff of pine needles and musk that clung to his clothes. It was just <em> blank, </em> completely missing the identifiers that guided Wren’s life: dangerous, tobacco and spice alphas; clean, citrus and saltwater betas; sweet, cinnamon and caramel omegas.</p><p>Wren felt like a creep, pressing Kit’s freshly washed shirt to his nose and inhaling, but curiosity outweighed his discomfort… and maybe the heat was starting to mess with his head too. Either way, the scent was still blank. In Wren’s isolated town, they barely had low dose suppressants, but Kit was a traveler. Did everyone have access to powerful suppressants where he was from, ones that completely masked secondary sex? Would it be possible for Wren to get a hold of them?</p><p>Hauling his laundry basket through the living room, he was surprised to see Kit awake and standing. Wren dropped the basket and rushed to support his unsteady weight, even as he flinched away from Wren's hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”</p><p>The alpha—or beta, whatever he was—shot Wren a cold look but allowed himself to be pushed onto the couch. “Look, thanks for helping me out and all, but I need to get going.”</p><p>Wren knew why he was so eager to leave, but that didn’t stop him from getting upset. “Get going? Last night you nearly bled to death. You have three fresh puncture wounds on your chest, not to mention forty stitches and <em> at least </em> a bruised rib.”</p><p>Kit was looking everywhere but at Wren. “But, you’re like…” He made a vague hand motion that suspiciously mimicked jerking off.</p><p>“Look, I’m not <em> that </em> close to heat.” A half-lie. “I’m a doctor, you’re now my patient, and I have to make sure you get better. That means I can take suppressants and control myself, so stay and let me do my job. You’ll be fine in two weeks at most.”</p><p>Kit stared at Wren as if he were an immovable obstacle.</p><p>“I’d let you stay at an inn instead, but we don’t have one. It’s either me or nothing.”</p><p>Finally Kit gave in, and though his expression remained troubled, he said nothing when Wren began to unwrap his bandages.</p><p>The rational side of Wren’s brain was beginning to scream warnings. What the hell was he doing, keeping a stranger in his house while on the verge of heat, and one who was probably an alpha at that? Didn’t he remember the whole <em> never-trust-an-alpha </em> thing?</p><p>The other side couldn’t stop rewinding the memory of Kit’s bloody, unconscious face. He became a healer to protect people; how could he not help Kit? How could he let him leave, still injured, because of his inconvenient omega body?</p><p>It also helped that Kit smelled nice, not at all overpowering like a typical alpha. He was also attractive. And <em> fit</em>. With his face flushing, Wren hurried wrapping the bandages around Kit’s shoulder, avoiding skin-to-skin contact.</p><p>“I have your shirt right here,” Wren grabbed it from the laundry basket, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get all the stains out. We can get the seamstress to make you new clothes. She won’t charge you, I’ll pay for it all. Oh, and be careful not to pull your stitches while putting it on. I worked hard on them.”</p><p>Kit pulled on the shirt before Wren was done rambling and seemed to enjoy seeing his face cycle through shock and upset. “What’s your name, doc?”</p><p>“It’s Wren, but you should at least <em> try </em> to listen—”</p><p>“Uh-huh,” Kit waved him off, “Do you have food here or what?” His smile was half upset, half mischievous. It screamed, <em> force me to stay and I’ll make your life a living hell. </em>It was like a challenge. And Wren loved challenges.</p><p>From that moment on, whether he realized it or not, he was absolutely fucked.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. one; licorice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>warning for some brief f/m action</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was nearly dawn when Wren woke up, a dull ache haunting his head.</p><p>For a moment he thought he was somewhere else, and the darkness crowded in to suffocate him, but then his view shifted. The rough stitch of the couch rubbed against his skin, still faintly coated with the smell of blood and earth, and for once he found comfort in the harsh sensations. He was home. He was okay.</p><p>A cold cup of tea greeted him from the coffee table, along with the ripped, open faces of many books. Wren reached out for a torn page and sighed when he saw an anatomy diagram. Of course it had to be the <em> textbooks. </em> Wren swore he did it as some strange kind of revenge.</p><p>“Kit?” Wren winced at how his voice seemed to echo in between his ears. No response. He rolled over and off the couch, taking stock of himself for a moment: still groggy from passing out and a little sensitive but, yes, there was his omega still forced down. A week since Kit had appeared and he still had control over his heat; thank the gods for natural suppressants. It was magic what you could do with a couple herbs.</p><p>The kitchen was empty and so was the guest room; it was out the back door that he found Kit. The man was a spot of darkness against the silver silhouette of forested hills, his coat thrown behind him in a long shadow. His face was turned away, towards the distant shrine and valleys, and the pale morning light glinted across his hair like metal. Wren sunk down to sit at the edge of his porch, seduced by the peaceful image.</p><p>In one bandaged hand Kit brandished a stick. He went through stances Wren had never seen before, elegant and deadly, and Wren could almost convince himself that Kit had a fine blade in his hand instead. He moved fluidly, weapon and man as one, parrying invisible blows and slicing through the air.</p><p>He turned and, meeting Wren’s eyes, tossed the stick, attempting some trick that failed miraculously and sent his makeshift weapon flying. Wren couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped him, but tried not to smile as Kit padded towards him, eyes downcast.</p><p>“Where did you learn to fight like that?”</p><p>“In the city,” he gave a half-shrug.</p><p>“Ah. Just like how you got those mysterious suppressants in the city?”</p><p>Kit turned his head away, jaw set stubbornly. “I wasn’t lying, I really don’t know anything about them.”</p><p>He had only been around for a short while, but part of Wren was desperate to like him, to trust him. It was the omega in him. Kit’s scent filled parts of his home that hadn’t been occupied in months. It pleased his muffled desire to share a nest, leaving a mark of <em> Kit </em> everywhere, licorice sweetness on the blankets and clothes. It made his knees <em> weak. </em> The omega in him couldn’t stop thinking about how <em> easy </em> it would be to give into the heat, to crawl to Kit and beg and whine.</p><p>But Wren couldn’t stop thinking about how little he knew about Kit. He’d given up on acting cold pretty quickly, but the evasiveness never went away. When asked for details on his suppressants, he said they were <em> standard injections, </em> ones that <em> everyone got in the city. </em> When asked if he was an alpha, he shrugged and said <em> sure </em> as if he were agreeing to a suggestion. And when asked about the light, Kit claimed Wren must have <em> imagined </em> it, because he lost his lantern and supplies in the storm. There were too many unexplained details, and it angered Wren to get so many non-answers. He could just <em> tell </em> there was more to Kit’s story.</p><p>So he had to force his omega down and remind it that Kit was still a stranger. He couldn’t just roll over and bare his stomach for an alpha he didn’t know. The last time he did that…</p><p>“Anyway,” Kit continued, “I don’t have any real fighting experience. I just learned because practicing calms me down.”</p><p>“Ah, so this whole time you could have been doing this instead of destroying my books?”</p><p>“Sorry. I don’t even realize when I’m doing it.” The smirk on his face said otherwise.</p><p>“Whatever, at least you tearing up my books doesn’t involve pulling out stitches. Speaking of, you should still be resting.” Wren squinted, trying to make out any sign of blood on Kit’s dark shirt. “You’re being careful, right?”</p><p>“Yes, <em> mom,</em>” Kit bemoaned, stepping away, though his scent sweetened with amusement. Wren wondered if he knew he could sense his emotions, or if he thought he was hiding it. “Go back to sleep and let the kids play.”</p><p>The stick was suddenly back in his hands, idly tossed from one to another. Hadn’t it just gotten thrown into the forest? Wren blinked and rubbed his eyes, cursing his tired vision.</p><p>“I really shouldn’t. I don’t know why you let me fall asleep last night, now everything <em> hurts.</em>”</p><p>“Hm.” Kit raised the stick parallel to his face, shifting his weight and beginning to cycle through stances again. “You needed it. Now you smell less frustrated, like you’re not constantly blue-balled.” He grinned. “And you say <em> I’m </em> the prickly one. I thought you were gonna rip my head off that time I tried to leave, I swear.”</p><p>Wren hardly heard the rest of Kit’s words. “You can smell that I’m…” <em> sexually frustrated</em>. <em> Constantly fighting the urge to bend over for your knot. </em></p><p>“I wasn’t scenting you on purpose, it’s just hard not to notice,” he laughed. “Do you not masturbate or something?”</p><p>Wren hid his flushed face in his hands and hurried back inside, Kit’s mischievous laughter haunting him the entire way there.</p><p>The sad part was that Wren <em> did </em> masturbate. He may have been unmated but he wasn’t some inexperienced virgin.</p><p>Well, correction: he <em> tried </em> to masturbate. Perhaps pushing his heat back had some unforeseen side effects, because he could never get himself to cum. Being held on the edge of climax was only pleasurable for so long, and he spent many embarrassing nights desperately fingering himself with one hand and crying into the other.</p><p>So he’d begun indulging in casual sex.</p><p>He was between appointments at the clinic and the beta pushing him into his office chair was petal soft, her plush lips parting to lick at his mouth. Something was off, but he <em> needed </em> this dammit, so he broke off the kiss to press his teeth to her neck, inhaling. Typical beta, lime undercut with the musk of arousal. She whined and unbuttoned his pants to guide his cock to her entrance.</p><p>No condom. It took Wren out of the moment for a second, but it wasn’t like beta women were attracted to <em> him </em> ; as an omega he was infertile, with a dick more for show than anything else. A safe hook-up. He tried to focus on the slide of their bodies as she rode him, the smell of sex in the air, and the brush of her hair against his face. She was just so <em> small, </em>so feminine, her breasts pressed to his chest and her hips wide against his.</p><p>“Shit,” Wren said after what felt like an eternity, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can—”</p><p>“Yeah, I figured,” the beta sighed, pausing the roll of her hips. “Don’t worry about it. Do you want to stop?”</p><p>Wren felt immensely guilty. “No, here, let’s switch positions.” He gripped her hips and fucked her into the chair, holding an edge the entire time. When she came on his cock, sobbing and gasping, he didn’t feel any better than when they had started.</p><p>He ran into the shower when he got home, praying that Kit wasn’t around to smell the frustration and sex clinging to his skin.</p><p>Fuck. Maybe Kit was right about him being blue-balled.</p><p> </p><p>.</p><p> </p><p>The day after Wren’s failed hook-up, Kit pulled out his stitches. Of course.</p><p>“It was an accident,” he insisted, laid out shirtless on the couch. Wren ignored how pleasing the sight was, definitely not watching his muscles flex as he fidgeted. Nope. “I’ll be careful next time, I swear.”</p><p>“Sure you will.” Wren pulled a stitch tight, only feeling a little bad when Kit flinched at the pain. “Only you could tear all your stitches while stabbing the air with a <em> stick.</em> You’re not helping your case when it comes to going to that festival.”</p><p>Gods only know how Kit heard about it. The festival was the only party held in the village all year, a celebration of the guardian spirit of the mountains or some other religious nonsense. It usually involved a ridiculous amount of drinking, eating, and dancing, before culminating in a ritual and offering to the spirit. Previous years, before his life went to shit, Wren had only gone for the food and drinks. Why Kit had become so fixated on it, he couldn’t say.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m sorry, really, just <em> please </em> go with me.” He flashed Wren pleading puppy eyes. Wren wasn’t proud to admit that he immediately gave in.</p><p>“I know you’re sorry,” he pressed a hand to Kit’s arm. “I’m just messing with you. Though I still don’t understand why you want to go so bad.”</p><p>“Why <em> don’t </em> you want to go?”</p><p>Wren hesitated. He didn’t want to be vulnerable with someone who wouldn’t do the same, but… “The last time I went it was with someone who’s dead now.” It wasn’t the whole story but it was enough.</p><p>A pained look flashed over Kit’s face. “Fuck, is that why you’re alone in this big house? And you’re unmated—“ His eyes widened. “Fuck.”</p><p>“No, she wasn’t my mate.” Wren turned his gaze back down to Kit’s wounds, preferring them to the open expressions on Kit’s face. “I’m not a widow, just a spinster. She raised me and taught me everything I know about medicine.” He breathed out unsteadily. “She died a month ago. That’s why I’ve got that case of insomnia you keep teasing me about. It’s been… difficult to sleep without her around.” He finished Kit’s stitches and jolted at how quickly he sat up.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I thought you were just sensitive all the time because of your heat, but knowing that… ugh.” He ran one hand down his face, tugging at the scar on his lip. “I feel like an asshole.”</p><p>Something about the sudden vulnerability warmed Wren’s heart, and for once he allowed himself to smile. “I feel like I’ve been an asshole to you too, so we’re even.”</p><p>Kit was silent for a moment, still staring at Wren but considering something. Then he reached out to hold Wren’s hand between his. His palms were warm underneath the bandages, and his fingers were calloused and shy as they pressed to Wren’s wrist. “I know it’s not the same, but I’ve lost someone too; my older brother, when I was a kid. I… I know how much it fucking <em> hurts </em>to be alone. I get it.” Then Kit’s face turned red, realizing what he had said. He let go of Wren’s hand, his face morphing between pained expressions before settling on panic.</p><p>”Kit—“</p><p>He fled the room before Wren could say anything more. He couldn’t even muster the energy to be upset, just <em>confused.</em></p><p>Kit had left his shirt on the floor. It smelled strongly of him, of rain and dirt and pine needles and licorice.</p><p>That night, with four fingers up his ass and the shirt pressed to his face, Wren orgasmed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next chapter: the festival :-)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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